Popular Mechanics for Lovers
by SUPERcilious
Summary: But Chuck didn’t build Chuck Bass on empty promises, so he takes a shower, pulls on a lavender cashmere sweater, packs his bags and buys a plane ticket direct to JFK, first class. Chuck/Blair. One-shot. Set post 2.13.


A/N: Title comes from the title of a song by Beulah.

Takes place post Chuck's quick trip across the globe, but disregards the entrance of Jack.

Any feedback is lovely, so thanks in advance!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, obviously.

* * *

The first few are tall and blond with piercing blue eyes. Every night, though, they get suspiciously shorter, have darker hair and deeper hued eyes. It's not like a conscious choice, he tells himself as he makes a beeline for a petite brunette across the bar, but he's Chuck Bass and he goes through phases. Even Picasso went through a blue period and a rose period, after all. He's Chuck Bass, so maybe this is just his brunette period.

- - - - -

For some reason, he imagined that somebody would call. It is sort of his trademark to disappear for a few days without warning, but not for two weeks without a hint to anybody. If they—he doesn't stop to debate who exactly "they" are—really cared, he thought, they could just check in with his travel agent and they'd realize he booked a one way ticket (business class, not first) to Bangkok. There was something cleansing about sitting with the masses—nobody said they were sorry for his loss and nobody expected him to be anything other than a pissed off, well dressed teenager sleeping for the seventeen hour flight. He only stopped breathing once, he thinks, for a second and only then did he momentarily regret the last dose of Methadone he took in the bathroom prior to boarding.

Somewhere between fucks number nine and thirteen, he reaches over to the phone on the bedside table in the hotel and dials the first number his fingers spell out. It rings six times before going to voicemail. _Hey, you've reached Eric. Leave your name and number after the tone and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks_. After the beep Chuck listens to his own shallow breathing into the phone before hanging it up with a disgusted groan.

- - - - -

Two days and six bottles of scotch later, he finds himself dialing that number again. This time, the boy on the other end of the line picks up.

"Chuck?"

All he can do is breathe into the phone, not sure what to say. Something along the lines of _Hello, I'm calling because I'm halfway across the earth, lying in a puddle of scotch and my own semen and just wanted to see what you and S are up to _didn't seem right, or fair.

"Chuck," starts Eric again, "I know you're there, but I'm going to hang up in ten seconds if you don't start talking. And," he pauses, as if unsure whether or not it's even worth continuing, "you should know you're welcome to keep calling until you're ready to say something."

All Chuck can do is nod, and even though Eric can't see him, he happens to think that he understands perfectly.

"Good night Chuck," he says evenly and hangs up the phone.

- - - - -

Another week goes by and for some inexplicable reason he's lost his appetite for Asian women and opium dens and finds solace in gazing out the window of his five star hotel room and onto the city below him from an armchair he's moved in front of the floor to ceiling windows, phone pulled off the bedside table and onto the floor beside him as he—hopes? waits? wishes?—assumes that someone will be calling soon.

Nobody calls.

His fingers scratch out Eric's number again and before the boy can get a word in edgewise Chuck cuts him off.

"Tell Blair I'm coming home," he says and hangs up the phone.

He takes a deep breath in before cradling his head in his hands, unsure of why exactly he was compelled to say those words exactly. But Chuck didn't build Chuck Bass on empty promises, so he takes a shower, pulls on a lavender cashmere sweater, packs his bags and buys a plane ticket direct to JFK, first class.

- - - - -

She's standing in the terminal when he gets off the plane. He's fresh off a four week bender and a seventeen hour detox and she looks like a perfect Upper East Side princess in her long wool coat, winter white of course, red tights and black patent Louboutin stilettos. He finds himself wondering what exactly she has on underneath the coat, but the expectant look on her features jolts him from his vision and he realizes that this would probably be a good time to say something. Something important. Something along the lines of _I love you_, maybe. Instead, though, he settles on something else entirely.

"Eric ruined the surprise, I see."

"My sources say that you explicitly wanted me to know you were coming home, idiot."

"Did I say that? I can't quite recall exactly what was going on," his voice trails off, a characteristic not indicative of the usual Chuck Bass, asshole extraordinaire. "You look beautiful, Blair," he adds, his voice the most sure and steady it's been in weeks.

She struggles to suppress a smile before walking forward and allowing herself to go limp in his arms. It only lasts a second, but it's a peace treaty, one stronger than the Treaty of Versailles, or the Peace of Westphalia or the Treaty of Vienna, or any other agreement that Blair could have learned about in her AP European History class; this one is built to last.

- - - - -

He moves back into his own suite—he can't quite face Lily, Serena and especially Eric just yet—and he goes back to school with Nate by his side. People whisper and Gossip Girl theorizes, but only Chuck Bass knows what exactly is going on with Chuck Bass.

- - - - -

It starts with a walk around the reservoir in Central Park where he doesn't talk much, but she fills him in on all the gossip that he missed while he was gone (three cases of herpes, a kid expelled from Dalton for cocaine, Nate is still with Vanessa and Serena is sort of related to but still sort of dating Dan, so nothing new). She describes the new pair of shoes she bought to go with a cocktail dress for the launch of her mother's accessories line next weekend and flippantly mentions a bowtie that she saw in the store that would happen to match her new heels perfectly. It starts to snow; they both are unprepared and a shiver whispers up Blair's spine. In an uncharacteristic burst of chivalry, Chuck wordlessly removes his scarf from his neck and places it around hers, continuing the stroll as if nothing had transpired.

It continues with a dinner for two at Le Cirque on Friday night and brunch at Balthazar Sunday morning. He and Serena share an elevator down to the lobby on Monday morning and while she sucks all the oxygen out of the mirrored box by merely over-sharing about her weekend with Dan, subtlety was never Serena's strong suit and he doesn't miss the smug smile she flashes him as they exit the elevator. All he can do is shake his head and attempt to stop the smirk that is creeping up onto his features from turning into a full on grin.

- - - - -

When Gossip Girl announces that they're officially a couple, Chuck and Blair are more surprised than anybody else at the news. Chuck catches Serena by the elbow in the corner of the courtyard as she flounces towards AP Economics, or, as Chuck can't help but think, some other class she's undoubtedly failing.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he hisses at her, dark eyes flashing dangerous.

"Oh Chuck," Serena says lightly, knowing full well that he wouldn't actually hurt her; they're family now, after all. "I don't know who did it, but whoever did was probably just pushing you two in the right direction. I would tell them 'thank you' instead of 'I'm Chuck Bass, you ruined me and I'm here to destroy you' or something." Her voice goes down at the end in a vain attempt to imitate Chuck's lazy drawl, but ends up giggling at her own joke. Lying, like subtlety, isn't Serena's strong suit, so Chuck releases her arm and stalks off across the courtyard.

- - - - -

He sees her on the steps of the Met—back to her rightful place now that they've finished all that pesky construction—surrounded by all her minions in coordinating colored tights and plaid jackets. He approaches slowly with a cup of coffee from Starbucks in each hand and catches her eye, motioning with his head that he would like to speak with her alone. Blair gets up, nodding curtly to the Proletariat that are seated below her and heads off towards Chuck.

Once they're ensconced away from prying eyes and pesky cell phone cameras he hands her the coffee, black; she's the only other person who likes it dark and bitter.

"So we're a couple?" he asks lightly, raising an eyebrow as he speaks.

She doesn't respond for a moment and just sits on the bench, back perfectly straight, and traces her finger over the crown above the mermaid's head on her coffee cup before letting out a sigh.

"Serena, right?" she says quietly, her eyes meeting his for the first time during this exchange.

He nods and she bites her lower lip.

"She has good intentions, no? Maybe she's just opening our eyes up to something we can't see, although while she's at it perhaps she has an instruction manual or something hidden in one of those giant hobo bags she's always carrying," Blair muses, voice soft and unsure despite the slow smile that is sneaking across her visage.

Chuck nods, taking a sip of his coffee before replying. "Exactly. It would be like us explaining why dating anybody from Brooklyn is a terrible sin. She needs somebody outside the situation to tell her what's right."

Blair laughs, shaking her head before her expression turns solemn. "So are we trying this, or should I go tell Serena that the water in Brooklyn is full of Hep-C?"

In response, Chuck leans down and captures her lips with his. It's gentle, sensual and full of a thousand words that will never be said.

"Maybe you should warn her anyway."

* * *

End.


End file.
